re can be a He who created the stuff of life. It is
merely a difference of degree. I have not yet made a mountain nor a
solar system, but I have made a something that sits in my chair. This
being so, may I not some day be able to make a mountain or a solar
system?

* * * * *

All his days, down to to-day, man has lived in a maze. He has never seen
the light. I am convinced that I am beginning to see the light--not as
my brother saw it, by stumbling upon it accidentally, but deliberately
and rationally. My brother is dead. He has ceased. There is no doubt
about it, for I have made another journey down into the cellar to see.
The ground was untouched. I broke it myself to make sure, and I saw what
made me sure. My brother has ceased, yet have I recreated him. This is
not my old brother, yet it is something as nearly resembling him as I
could fashion it. I am unlike other men. I am a god. I have created.

* * * * *

Whenever I leave the room to go to bed, I look back, and there is my
brother sitting in the chair. And then I cannot sleep because of
thinking of him sitting through all the long night-hours. And in the
morning, when I open the study door, there he is, and I know he has sat
there the night long.

* * * * *

I am becoming desperate from lack of sleep. I wish I could confide in a
physician.

* * * * *

Blessed sleep! I have won to it at last. Let me tell you. Last night I
was so worn that I found myself dozing in my chair. I rang for the
servant and ordered him to bring blankets. I slept. All night was he
banished from my thoughts as he was banished from my chair. I shall
remain in it all day. It is a wonderful relief.

* * * * *

It is uncomfortable to sleep in a chair. But it is more uncomfortable to
lie in bed, hour after hour, and not sleep, and to know that he is
sitting there in the cold darkness.

* * * * *

It is no use. I shall never be able to sleep in a bed again. I have
tried it now, numerous times, and every such night is a horror. If I
could but only persuade him to go to bed! But no. He sits there, and
sits there--I know he does--while I stare and stare up into the
blackness and think and think, continually think, of him sitting there.
I wish I had never heard of the eternity of forms.

*